AU Series 3 Episode 1 - The Road Home
by HeatherTN
Summary: Death in Paradise is the property of Robert Thorogood and Red Planet productions. I'm only borrowing 'em for a bit. Richard receives devastating news from home and has to go back to the UK. While there he finally confronts his past which leaves him almost broken. Edit: Updated typos and grammar corrections. Edited again: 10.6.2013 to iron out plot inconsistencies and spelling.
1. Chapter 1

*Continued from 'Poster Boy'

Chapter One

It was too bloody hot again, and Detective Inspector Richard Poole found his ire rising in tandem with the mercury in the station barometer.

He had just finished interviewing three dreadful local youths who were responsible for stealing his clothes* when Richard and the team had gone to a beach for a swim, a week or so back. Not only did Richard have the indignity of being left naked behind a bush as a result, they had also broken into the shack – which Richard preferred to call a bungalow, but a beach shack it was none the less – had trashed the place and had strewn his property all over the surrounding area. It had not been fun getting answers out of semi-stoned idiots who kept interrupting with personal references to Poole's 'lily white ass' in front of the team. Richard would have preferred not to have been reminded about that! But at least the little swines had been caught, evidence gathered by the bucket load squarely confirming their guilt. After that charges were swiftly made and the gits removed to the holding centre at the prison.

Still, the bloody heat!

Richard had taken his jacket off, had been wise enough to wear a lighter material shirt, had his fan on, the doors wide open but *still* he felt he was melting away to nothing. He sighed, rose from his chair, made his way across the floor to the large fridge freezer on the opposite side of the room and pulled open the door. A loud groan escaped from his lips as he saw empty shelves where there should have been rows of chilled bottled water.

"What! Bloody Hell! Now we have to go to a well to get cool drinking water all of a sudden!? Why is this fridge empty! We have GOT to have cold water to drink for God's sake!"

The team of Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey, Officer Dwayne Myers and Police Sergeant Fidel Best, barely raised their heads as they were so used to Poole's rantings.

"There was a delay at the depot, Chief. Water should be here in a couple of hours." Dwayne said as he continued with the cross word he had started during a quiet moment.

Richard threw up his hands and rolled his eyes. Grumbling, he returned to his seat defeated. Camille suddenly stood up and grabbed her shoulder bag, heading for the side door.

"Where are you off to?" Richard asked, puzzled.

"To Eldred's to get some water," Camille replied "before you expire from the heat or from us killing you because you are becoming very irritating!"

"I'm not irritating! I just want to have some cold water to drink! It's baking!" Richard groused.

Camille rolled her eyes and marched out of the building while Dwayne and Fidel did their best not to laugh at the scene unfolding. It was obvious their DI and DS were falling for each other, obvious to everyone else that is, except them. Dwayne and Fidel looked at each other and smiled, sharing a silent thought.

As the morning unfolded, the work piled up. Apart from tidying up from a drugs related murder case, the team were also having to deal with a recent increase in petty crime as of course, Richard had found out to his cost.

For all that Saint-Marie was a small island, Richard wished there were more resources. Apart from the main station in Honoré, there were three other satellite stations in the smaller towns of New Devon, South Bay and St George, as well as a dozen smaller stations which were basically rooms attached to buildings on other parts of the island. The island jail also served as a holding centre for newly arrested prisoners, rather than have multi-occupancy if there were more prisoners than cells in the main stations.

He had started to quietly examine the manpower distribution – mostly part time and volunteer – as well as the resources. The police budget was assessed on a yearly basis by committee with the funding coming from an island community tax, a Commonwealth grant and private business. The assets were small, one main police car - the battered Land Rover Defender - Dwayne's motorcycle which had been 'upgraded' in the last year from an old Triumph Bonneville to a more shiny Royal Enfield motorbike and sidecar plus other equipment. Richard was surprised to learn the 'bike was actually partially owned by Dwayne. He had invested some of his savings in to the purchase so he wouldn't be saddled with an older more worn out vehicle.

But for now, Richard had to concentrate on getting better results in apprehending the thieves, con artists and drug dealers that seemed to come from out of nowhere in the last few months. Someone was behind the increase Richard was sure of it, but there wasn't the time or resources to dig deeper. The idiots he had interviewed this morning didn't have much to offer either, just the usual young male testosterone driven desire to prove they were 'gangsta' so probably were not tied up with any particular organised gang as such.

He looked up and noted that despite the pressure everyone was under – notably from Commissioner Patterson –the team were still keen, and working well in making inroads with the local community so hopefully something would break soon.

Richard was actually quite proud of his team whom he gladly acknowledged, contributed a huge amount to the phenomenal success the little police force had with arrests and convictions for murder and other serious crimes. Whilst Richard could bring the pieces together and work on that, it was his team who were behind his success, despite the lack of technology and man power.

Sitting back in his chair and stretching his arms back behind his head, Richard mused about his time on the island. The last time he had been back in the UK was when he escorted a suspect back to the UK, to be interviewed by SOCA in London. He thought he would be overjoyed to return albeit only for a few days to the cold air. But something, or someone rather, had given him pause to think again.

When Richard had been packing for the journey home, Camille had watched and then challenged him that he would not come back. Richard denied it, or tried to. He was somewhat taken aback at the slight crack in her voice and was about to try and re-assure her when Dwayne and Fidel had arrived. He also pondered the fact he managed to walk off without his passport, tickets and cell phone and would have gone all the way to the airport without the items if Camille hadn't handed them to him over the railings.

But what had stunned him the most at the time and made him so uncomfortable, was the kiss he had received on the right cheek from her and a hug. He had frozen and did not know how to react. Richard was not the most tactile of people at the best of times and had difficulty with anyone invading what he considered his personal space. But Camille had invaded his personal space some time ago and as much as he could try to deny it, that personal space was his heart.

He blinked hard at the thought and blushed, suddenly becoming aware he had been staring at Camille sat opposite. Clearing his throat and sitting forward, he was relieved to see that Camille hadn't noticed, being engrossed in her own work. Richard sighed as he looked down at the paperwork piled on his desk and started to sift his way through it. However his concentration was suddenly broken by the desk phone ringing. He scowled and answered.

Camille was working through her paperwork and had heard Richard answer the phone, but raised her head when she heard him whisper "What? When? Dad...?"

He had suddenly gone very pale and was sitting rigidly still, his knuckles white from gripping the receiver so hard.

"Is everything alright Richard?" Camille asked. When he didn't respond she rose out of her chair, "Richard?"

He hadn't heard her at all and was just sat motionless staring into space. Camille crossed over to his desk, gently prised the receiver out of his hand, checked to hear if there was anyone on the line but hearing only a dial tone, she replaced it carefully back on the set. He still didn't respond. Dwayne and Fidel began to rise from their seats, both too becoming concerned.

"Richard, Richard.." Camille gently squeezed his hand, "Richard, are you alright?"

He suddenly blinked and focused on her, his mouth opening and closing but with no sound.

Camille was now becoming very worried. She looked back at Dwayne and shook her head.

"Richard!" She said, more loudly this time. He jumped at her voice.

"S..sorry, what did you say?" He mumbled back.

"Are you alright? You have gone very pale. What's the matter, are you feeling ill?" Camille was now at eye level with him.

He breathed out slowly and shook his head a little, still with an expression of disbelief.

"No, no..no, nothing like that. It's...my dad's phoned and..."

He looked up at her again.

"My mother has just died."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

He awoke with a jolt, and it took a moment for Richard to remember where he was, sat in an Air France Airbus heading back on an overnight to London Heathrow via Orly in Paris. It was the earliest flight he could catch that would get him home. He was dreading seeing his father again, their relationship had been strained at the best of times, on the surface very stiff and formal but deep down, Richard had always felt not just disapproval but also downright loathing from his father.

He had started to open up to Camille when the two were trapped overnight in a University of Guadeloupe sub-station. She had asked him if he was anything like his father and Richard had replied that he wasn't. But that's not strictly true, he mused. Because of his literal nature, Richard tended to lack empathy and tact, that he knew so was very much like his dad in that respect. It was with no little amount of shame that Richard realised how he had been very rude to all of his colleagues and Catherine Bordey when he first arrived. Yet for all that that they had all stuck by him, tolerated his shortcomings and did their best to engage him in their lives.

It had been the complete opposite in the UK. Years spent trying to do his best, his exact nature brought results but Doug Anderson had seen to it the last seven years of Richard's life in the UK had been made utterly miserable. Richard had hoped to be a Detective Chief Inspector by now, but a mix of marginalisation and Richard's own pedantic and growing indifference to his colleagues soon put paid to that. He had also had to accept that his transfer to Saint-Marie was an excellent opportunity to get rid of him and that Selwyn Patterson's sneaky canvassing to keep Richard in Honoré had suited both departments equally, but not Richard. Not back then anyway.

Richard yawned and did his best to stretch out. He was somewhat numbed from the last 24 hours, but his thoughts and reflections began to instil a sense of dread. He had always longed to go home, but that longing was getting harder and harder to cling to. He was in a place, whilst it was too hot, too sunny, too sandy and laid back, that had welcomed him, forgave him his faults and appreciated his efforts. He had a team that backed him to the hilt but who had also not been afraid to stand up to him when the occasion called for it and Richard in turn was beginning to trust them too.

As much as he hated to admit it and was trying his very best to avoid it, the one person who had started to turn things around in his head and his heart –_ "when did you get so soppy again, Poole!"_ He thought,_ "Remember what happened the last time"_ – was Camille Bordey.

Camille – so French, so temperamental, so questioning, taking a lot of what he said out of context, telling him in no uncertain terms what she thought of him on their first case together, the one who ruined his marker pen and snatched his pointer, the one who listened as he began to reveal snippets of himself for the first time to anyone, the one who kept him on track, the one who always teased but never mocked him, yes that Camille.

He had come to trust her and was not unaware of her beautiful athletic body, her openness, her candour, her instincts she used no matter how hard he tried to discourage it, who could get such a rise out of him yet her presence gave him confidence. He was falling in love with her, that much he knew by the increasing sleepless nights caused by thinking and worrying about the situation, not to mention the dreams that had become disturbingly erotic of late.

With his history of suddenly being yanked out of any place he worked and be sent half way around the world at a moment's notice, did not fill Richard with the confidence that his stay in Saint-Marie would be a permanent one. Besides, what the hell would she see in a pedantic, middle-aged, anally retentive, balding idiot! He realised that Camille had feelings for him but he could never burden her with his. He dared not to reciprocate except as a friend and colleague.

And there lay the problem. Richard had buried himself so deep, he didn't know that he *could* ever love her the way she would want to be loved. They bickered like an old couple and he was comfortable with that as they were both argumentative by nature and competitive. But he couldn't understand the rituals of courtship, having tried them before and they hadn't worked terribly well. It's not that he didn't know *how* to fall in love, he just couldn't understand how it worked. He was too literal. The emotional rarely made sense and was often illogical.

To get angry or frustrated he understood but to open your heart and soul up to another person and not have that fall apart, he couldn't risk it preferring to be a loner socially, at least that way he could stave off the hurts and complications of relationships. His mum would have the reassuring answers, but she and Dad were not the best example on what a happy relationship should be either...

_"Oh God! Mum...!"_ He thought and suddenly felt nausea rise in this throat.

He took a deep breath, his eyes wandering around the dimly lit cabin for a moment before he curled up as best he could to try and get back to sleep.

About eight hours later, Richard found himself outside Terminal Four queuing for a taxi. He had booked a room at a nearby hotel, and invested in a hire car. It was cold but sunny, no one was trying to hawk touristy tat, there was no sound of crowds, livestock, music. It was concrete and people quietly going about their business, some being greeted by family and friends, by those who cared. Others were like Richard, just trying to get from A to B.

The Taxi ride to the Sheraton didn't take too long as the morning traffic had eased up a bit. Richard found himself at the desk, reservations completed, keys to hire car obtained and the next minute he found himself fiddling with the key card and then in through the door. Carefully placing his case on the luggage stool, he surveyed the room and the featureless landscape beyond. The thrum of aircraft and traffic had been muted by double glazing but it was still there.

Hanging his jacket up on a hook, Richard opened up his mobile phone and looked at it. He then scrolled to 'Dad' and started to...but he couldn't. Not yet. He could only guess at what his father would be going through or not. Richard sighed and sat heavily on the end of the bed. This was going to be so much harder than he realised but it had to be done. He scrolled again and dialled the number to be answered by a machine.

"Dad, Richard here, have arrived in one piece. I'll be at the house around two and will ring you before I leave."

He quickly hung up and placed the phone on the desk in front and just stared it. Would his father ring back? Richard was not sure as calls to mobile phones tended to be expensive in the UK and he wondered if his father thought Richard would be worth the effort and the expense. Sighing heavily, Richard looked out of the window again, the sun was still out. It would be just rising over a small coastal town some four thousand miles away, and Richard found he was missing the stuffy hot air as it would pass behind the North West facing shack.

Sighing again, he moved in to the bathroom for a quick shower and change of clothes before making that dreaded journey to Croydon.

* * *

Back in Honoré, Dwayne stretched and made his way into the kitchen. For once he was not waking up with a headache after a heavy night, deciding to take some quiet time from the bars and clubs in town. He reflected on Richard Poole, another Brit cop sent over to sort out serious crime and although the guy was more uptight than a gnat's ass, Dwayne could not help but like him. He was not one to get overly emotional or attached to senior staff, having seen so many come and go over the years, and the last detective inspector Charlie Hulme was an ok guy who was very laid back. Yet for all that, Dwayne could almost understand why Lily did what she did. Charlie could be a bit patronising at times and not inclined to credit the team with much intelligence.

When Poole turned up, the pen pushing tight ass-ness of the man was so obvious, but unlike Hulme, Poole had expected his team to contribute. Dwayne smiled at the memory of Poole's frustration with the murdered bride case, jumping about in anger as no one could agree on the suspects MMO's. As uptight and unsociable the chief could be, at least he required the team to think and was not slow in giving either a rocket for mess ups, but also genuine praise when the job was done well. A pain in the ass Poole could be, but he was never patronising to his team. Dwayne also loved the way his younger colleague Fidel had been encouraged to advance. Fidel had been so eager to learn, please and do well and the Chief had responded to that.

So he had to be admired and fair dues to the man who had been dragged to a place he did not choose to stay in, at least Poole was trying his best. And of course, there was Camille, shockingly beautiful, feisty and who could throw a mean verbal as well as a physical punch. She had adjusted well and of course it helped she was a local.

Dwayne looked up. Time to get dressed and head on into town. He thought of Richard Poole and that his being so far from home was bad enough, even worse when family were ill or dying. On that thought he wished the chief well and hoped that he would be ok.

* * *

Richard pulled in on the opposite side of the junction he was to turn into. The rain that had suddenly come from nowhere added a whole new level of misery to the day. Gripping the steering wheel he sighed and fidgeted a little, trying to fight down the rising anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him. His father had not rung back but Richard had expected as much. It would be like Dad to just listen to the answer phone and expect Richard to be there.

He then started to think about his mother. The last time he spoke to her was quite a while back and it had not been a good conversation. She had endlessly asked Richard when he would be coming home, Richard in turn could not give her an answer and she had taken it the wrong way. Their last conversation echoed through his head like an explosion.

_"..but Darling! You can't stay out there forever! We miss you! Why can't you just tell them you want to come home!"_

_"Mum, I can't just tell them, I have to..."_ He had pleaded. Her next words had cut him to the bone.

_"Is it that you can't come home Richard? Or that you *don't* want to come home!"_

_"Mum..I ca..."_

"_Oh! Don't bother trying to explain. What's the point! You are as bad as your father!"_

And at that point she had hung up.

Richard had tried to call her back as it was uncharacteristic for his mother to be so angry but she would not speak to him. He was powerless and had felt all sides crowding in on him, pressure from everyone to get every single thing right. Now even his mum, usually so gentle and who loved to fuss over him, was fed up with her own son. And of course he gave up trying, thinking he would wait a while. But that while turned in to months and now it was too late.

It would be the last time he would hear her voice and right now the pain of that memory was beginning to burn in his chest.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Richard started the car and turned right into the road where he had spent the first eighteen years of his life.

Eighteen sodding miserable years.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Fidel had his arms full of baby, his very active and fluid six month old daughter Rosie.

"Juliet!" He called out of the door to the yard, "hurry up! I have to get going!"

"Hold your horses! These chickens won't feed themselves y'know! I'll be just a minute!" She called back.

Fidel rolled his eyes. Why Juliet had to feed the chickens at that moment, when he was supposed to be already half way down the road in the direction of town he could not guess at. What did she do all day anyway?

Dusting her hands off, Juliet walked in and retrieved Rosie from Fidel's arms. He kissed his daughter on the head and started out of the door.

"Don't I get one too Fidel?" Juliet asked quietly.

"Oh, sorry." Fidel replied leaning back and giving his wife the briefest of pecks on the cheek. He then walked out of the house without so much of a backward glance, leaving Juliet with a face full of sorrow.

* * *

Richard had raised his hand a couple of times before he finally hesitantly pressed the door bell and give a light rap on the knocker. He stood for what seemed to be an eternity as the rain drizzled over his head and down the back of his neck. Thinking his father really wasn't at home he turned to leave but stopped when he heard the door open. Richard turned and faced the one person who he should have been able to seek comfort from and give back the same, but instead his father looked at him with cold disdain while stepping back indicating Richard should enter.

"You had better come in. Don't want anyone thinking I have abandoned my well travelled son to the cold British weather now, do we." Albert Poole said.

Richard raised his head a little but could not bring himself to make full eye contact with his father. He nodded quietly muttering "Thanks Dad. Good to see you."

Once inside the house, that used to be spotlessly clean but now smelling musty and ever so slightly damp, Richard removed his coat, hung it on a spare hook and followed his father though to the kitchen. Rubbing his hands together nervously, Richard finally had the courage to speak.

"How are you Dad? How are you coping?"

It was stupid question to say the least, but it was all Richard could think of.

"I suppose you'll want a cup of tea? Not sure what the tea is like where you are now. Do they have tea there? I thought it was all sugar and coffee in these places. Oh, I'm coping well. Bit of a swizz with your mother suddenly popping off like that though." Albert replied in a non committal way.

Richard could not believe his father's words, the way he had said them. His mother had only been dead for about forty eight hours and yet his father spoke of her as someone in his past, who had left without permission, a dereliction of duty. Richard thought it better than to challenge his father for now, so biting his tongue, he accepted Albert's offer of tea.

Albert looked up at his son. So like his bloody mother with the green eyes and the look of always wanting *something*.

"So how was the journey then Richard? Surprised you managed to get back so quickly. Didn't think you would come all that way. It's not as if you can do anything as the funeral's all sorted. Cremation, Thursday morning, ten am." Albert said.

Richard looked up at his father. So that was it, statement of fact, no emotion, words echoing in his head from another who used to make Richard feel so inadequate for merely breathing.

_"Bang. Done. Dusted."_

Richard found himself staring down at his feet. He was not quite going to let his father just finish it there, so plucked up the courage to ask.

"What exactly happened Dad? I need to know, please." He asked quietly, now able to fully look his father in the face.

Albert handed Richard his tea, pausing a moment to look at his son. Well the boy had the right to know, he thought.

"Not much to say really. Your mum had been complaining a lot about headaches of late, but wouldn't go to see the doctor. Used to get in a real snit about it too when they happened. Anyway, I was watching the news and had wanted your mum to go and make the tea. I thought she had fallen asleep so didn't bother her for a bit, but then it was getting late so I went to wake her up and there she was, dead. Called an ambulance but they couldn't do anything, so that's when I called you. Doctors say your mum had a massive stroke"

Richard's mouth gaped open for a minute but he decided that now wasn't the time.

"I presume there'll be an inquest later but at least they know what happened I suppose." A pathetic thing to say, Richard thought to himself, but challenging his father would have to come later.

Albert shrugged, "Well the post mortem's done. The undertaker is sorting the rest and I'll register her tomorrow then all we have to do is the funeral. No frills of course but seeing as you're here I guess you'll want to go the crematorium to see your mother off? I'll go too then, wasn't going to bother as I said goodbye to her in the ambulance."

Richard somehow managed to keep his temper. His father was talking about his mother as if she were to be sent to a scrap yard. He tried to rationalise that this was his dad's way of dealing with his grief except Richard knew differently.

Albert Poole married Margaret Brewer in 1962. He was an up and coming share trader, she was a librarian. He was a man who knew what he wanted, loved the Empire and never accepted this 'Commonwealth' nonsense. She would want for nothing so long as she did as she was told and be the good faithful stay at home wife and not cause any bother.

That, Richard thought to himself was the 'ideal' view of the marriage. But he, as the only child was born eight years later, knew differently and was also expected to do all the right things and from an early age, Richard knew his place and God help him and his mother if they didn't toe the line...

Suddenly Richard felt dizzy as a long forgotten memory surged in to his head..

_He ran screaming up to the back door because he had found her lying still against the shed. Mum came running out to find Richard holding Polly, the little kitten he had been given for his sixth birthday, dead in his arms..._

_"Stop that bloody child crying!" Dad had yelled, "It's only a bloody cat!"_

_Mum had whirled around and had asked Dad how he knew why Richard had been crying._

_"Because that bloody little flea bag had been getting under my feet all day so I kicked it out!" His Dad had roared back._

_"And you just left her lying there for Richard to find!?"_

_At that point, Mum had gone back into the house and then the shouting got really loud, followed by the screams and Richard was all alone in the back garden holding his broken cat..._

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, his father was still speaking but Richard was no longer able to listen.

"Dad, I would like to go and see Mum, which undertaker is she with?" He kept his tone respectful.

Albert looked up. "What? Now?"

Richard shrugged.

"I can call them tomorrow morning for a viewing. Would you like to come as well?"

"No." came the reply to Richard's question.

Richard stood rigidly still as his father picked up a card from the table.

"Here's the number. Just remember though, if you want to see your mother off you'll need to be at Mitcham Road by nine forty five, I don't want to be hanging round. It should only take about ten minutes."

Richard looked up from the card his father had passed to him.

"Are any of Mum's friends coming? She would..."

Albert cut him off.

"I'm not having those knitting twitchers sniffling about the place! They'll want bloody tea and sandwiches. Let them have their own damn funeral if they want that! I'm not having some mawkish send off for a bunch of... Look you're mother's gone. That's it! End of story!" He replied angrily.

Richard raised his hands, he had heard quite enough for one day. His mother would have only two to 'see her off' as his father had put it, a husband who never loved her and a son who could not get home.

Thanking his father for the card, Richard left the house out in to the now thundery weather. But he was oblivious to the rain as he got in the car and reversed out of the drive way to head back across the river.

He was too tired and too shocked to even be able to shed a tear.


	4. Chapter 4

Please Note. Chapter contains profanity.

Chapter Four

Catherine Bordey watched has her daughter sat down heavily on the bar stool in front of her. Camille looked tired, anxious and was far too quiet. Camille maybe a grown woman but a mother always knew when her baby girl was upset.

"Are you alright _ma chere_?" Catherine gently asked, "You look tired today, did you not sleep well last night?"

Camille looked up at her mother and decided to be honest. No point being otherwise.

"Just tired _Maman_, with Richard being away Fidel, Dwayne and I have been trying to clear some of the backlog of complaints coming in." Camille replied.

But her very perceptive mother probably would not accept that as a complete answer, "and I am also worried about Richard. It's an awful thing to happen when you are so far from family"

Catherine nodded. Her daughter had been the cause of some sleepless nights for Catherine when working away from home too.

"We'll make sure he's ok when he returns." Catherine offered.

'If he returns that is,' Camille thought and immediately felt guilty for being so selfish.

* * *

Richard called in to The White Hart, the pub that used to be his 'local' where he would retire some evenings to the snug and sit in 'his' chair close by to an open roaring fire after work. It was his space back then where he could be just another customer enjoying a quiet pint.

This evening he *really* needed a drink after starting the day by going to see his mother in the Chapel of Rest at the undertakers. Quietly walking in to the main bar, he was saddened to see the snug had gone and the space opened up in to a restaurant area.

'Death of pub by Gastro-pub', Richard thought cynically but at least they still sold his favourite bitter. After purchasing a pint of Spitfire Kentish, he found a quiet corner to sit and reflect over how the day was going.

It went better than expected.

Richard had arrived at the local undertakers to see his mother for the last time. Although a part of him wanted to run away very fast in the opposite direction, he took a deep breath and walked in through the door. He was met by a nice polite young man called George, from Saint-Marie of all places.

George had an efficient quiet air about him, and Richard felt almost comforted by this young man's presence. Some small talk while waiting for his mother to be prepared in the viewing room revealed that George was also attending college in his spare time so he could return home to Saint-Marie and set up his own business.

'He will be very busy that's for sure with murder rate being what it is', Richard thought ruefully.

And then it was time.

Richard had seen countless bodies in the thirteen years as a homicide detective, and had developed a thick skin. It wasn't to say that he never felt sadness, anger or sorrow but there was a time and place for that. But when he offered his condolences and sorrow to those who cared for the deceased, he always meant it. It was an unconscious effort to retain some sense of humanity because it was all too easy to forget that usually someone somewhere was going to be bereaved, with child homicides always being the worst.

Now it was his turn. George quietly led Richard in to a small side room and asked if he wanted to view from there or go in.

"I'll go in if you don't mind and would like a few moments alone."

George simply nodded and opened the door. Richard stepped in and quietly approached his mother.

'God she's so pale!' was Richard's first thought as a wave of sorrow and regret washed over him.

He stood motionless looking at her face that seemed to be so calm. Then after taking a deep breath and ignoring the blurring of his sight, Richard lent down and gave a light kiss to her forehead, brushing her cheek with his hand as he straightened up. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for being so far away, for not being there when she needed him, for not doing enough to keep Dad off her back, for not...

Briefly closing his eyes and ducking his head, Richard struggled with the welling up of emotions from within but managed to contain them. Now was not the time, because he just knew when he did fall apart, he would not be able to function. Her death was going to be the straw bending and slowly breaking an already overburdened back that had not dared to give in to the chronic emotional pain caused by years of anxiety and shame for being different.

With one final look at her, Richard turned and exited the room.

On the way out, he had briefly chatted with George about the funeral arrangements, there was to be no service except for a committal, and his mother's ashes scattered in a memorial garden at the back of the crematorium but with no plaque in memory of her. At this point Richard balked and altered the arrangements. He would not have her scattered over some manufactured garden that held no meaning for her.

No, he thought of a place that his mother had always loved. He would have to tell Dad of course, get his name taken off the cremation certificate, and have Richard's added plus reimburse Dad for the internment fees. It would be worth that and the row that was bound to follow to have his mum's remains scattered in a place where she had found solace and peace. He was shocked to find out that his father had also not bothered to collect his mother's personal effects including her wedding and engagement rings.

Next he had gone back to see his father to sort out about his mother's ashes, but Richard was surprised his father didn't seem to care that much apart from the expected grumble over to internment costs. That was sorted by a call to the undertaker to change the named person for collection. The ashes would be available by the end of the day, they were told.

Richard handed over his mother's rings to his father, who seemed to be non-plussed but who had taken them anyway.

Now back in the pub, Richard finished his pint and headed out of the door to his rented car. He was not looking forward to the morning at all and tried not to think about it on the way back to his hotel.

* * *

It was an overcast day with rain threatening again. Richard and Albert were shown into the small chapel and asked if they wanted to say anything before Margaret's remains were to be cremated.

But the offer wasn't taken. Albert stood upright, but Richard noticed his father occasionally glancing at his watch and harrumphing. Richard remained mute, not moving, his eyes fixated on the coffin which contained his mother's remains.

When the coffin finally disappeared behind the curtains, Richard clamped his jaws tight and again fought down the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Although at times, Richard had been close to tears it had been years since he had actually cried. He knew it would happen, but again now was not the time, not in front of his father who was still looking at his watch.

Soon all was done, and after thanking the undertaker and crematorium staff, Richard and Albert left the chapel and drove back to the house. Once in through the door, Richard nearly tripped over the boxes and suitcases lining the hall way. It seemed that his father had been busy sorting out his mother's belongings.

"You've been busy I see." said Richard quietly.

"Yes, thought I would crack on with getting this lot on its way. Once that's done, I can get on with things."

Richard bit his tongue but looked at how everything that was his mother, had been packed unceremoniously in to boxes, to be disposed of quickly. On top of one of the boxes he saw a silver covered jewellery box, a present that Richard had given his mother for her fiftieth Birthday, and now it was to be disposed of with the rest of her belongings because it no longer had relevance.

Richard looked up at his father.

"Is this everything of Mum's? Aren't you going to keep any of it, to remember her with?"

Albert looked up from a suitcase he was moving.

"Why on earth would I keep any of your mother's stuff? It's only cluttering up the house, she had far too much rubbish!"

"Including this?" Richard asked, holding up the jewellery box.

"Oh that thing. It's no use to me Richard, someone will buy it for a girlfriend or something."

"I gave this to Mum for her fiftieth Dad! She loved it and now you're just going to dispose of it because it ..._she_...is no longer any use to you!?"

"What?"

"Is that all Mum was to you, an inconvenience? Why didn't you ask her friends to her funeral Dad? Why couldn't you...just.." Richard couldn't continue and threw his hands up in the air.

"I see. So you wanted the full sentimental rubbish, the flowers, the mourners eh? "

"Yes Dad. For Mum! For the woman who stuck with you all these years! For the..."

Albert snorted and rounded on his son.

"Do not use that tone with me boy! You were not here! No, you were bloody THOUSANDS of miles away with a bunch of bloody coconuts having been sent there because you pissed them off at the Met! Oh believe me Richard, I heard all about it! My bloody son being kicked off to a bloody jungle somewhere because you had pissed off your superiors so much the buggers were going to make sure you were not coming back! Oh I tried telling your mother of course, but no, she wouldn't have and then started getting these blasted headaches!"

Richard stared open mouthed as Albert rushed up and started poking him in the chest.

"Your bloody mother was a moaner Richard! She wanted this, she wanted that! All *I* wanted was someone to shut up, keep house, perform her duties and be a decent wife! Not some whiny bitch who gave me an equally insipid son! Bloody hell boy, I sent you to the *best* schools, made sure you have the best of everything! You could have made something of your life instead of having your bloody head stuck in books all the time! That's what your mother did to you! History indeed!"

"So Dad, this is it eh? All the times I tried to please you, not to be a disappointment to you, worked hard so that you would be proud, was all for nothing then! Sorry to have ruined your investment!"

Albert stepped back and looked at his son.

"Take what you want and then get out Richard. Get your loathsome backside out of my house and go back to your bloody jungle! I can see why they got rid of you, you pathetic little smart ass of mummy's boy!"

He pushed Richard back against the wall.

"You have five minutes to sort yourself out and make it good because I've decided I'm going to burn the rest of this rubbish! It'll be good to be shot of you both at last!"

At that, Richard's father walked in to the kitchen slamming the door behind him.

Despite feeling totally numb, it didn't take long for Richard to pick up some of his mother's belongings. The jewellery box with its contents, including his mother's wedding and engagement rings, plus some other jewellery Richard was surprised his father had not sold, a scarf and other items. He also found his mother's knitting bag and picked it up. With one last glance at the kitchen door, Richard walked out of his family home and his father's life for good.

Across the street, Lily Parker watched with sadness as Margaret's son packed some items in to a car. Margaret had been so proud of him but recently before her death, she had not spoken much about Richard or about anything else for that matter. Lily had also been worried about Margaret's headaches which seemed to get worse over time and of course as as result, Lily's friend died..

She turned away from the window but was surprised to see Richard cross the road towards her house. Deciding to preempt his arrival, Lily headed to the front door.

* * *

Richard had one more call to make before he would depart. His mother's best friend lived just across the way and at least he could give something of her to Mrs Parker before he left for good. When he got to the front door, he was a little startled to find it opening but smiled at the white haired petite woman in front of him. She gave Richard a wide smile and reached up for a hug which he gladly reciprocated. It was the only time Richard would see a smile on this trip.

"Come in to the dry my dear. How are you?" Lily asked, taking Richard's coat, "I am so sorry about your mother."

Richard stopped in his tracks and gazed at the floor.

"Thank you Mrs Parker..."

He started wringing his hands and shuffled his feet a little, then looked up. Lily noticed that his face for all that it was slightly tanned, it was also very drawn, tired and his eyes were dark.

"I'm sorry that Dad didn't see fit to invite you and Mum's other friends to the funeral." Richard quietly said.

"I'm sure your father had his reasons. But not to worry, we can remember your mother in other ways. Come on through, I have some tea on the go, Henry should be back soon.."

With that, Richard followed Lily in to the sitting room. The Parkers had been good friends to his mother and he at least could leave knowing she did have someone close who cared for her. They talked for an hour, Lily filling the gaps that his father left out.

Eventually it was time to leave. Richard handed over his mother's knitting bag to Lily, she looked at Richard and then began to softly cry as she gently held it in her arms. It took all of Richard's strength for him not to join her. They said goodbye at the door, the Parkers insisting they would keep an eye on his father and yes they would be delighted to hear from him and hear all about his Caribbean adventures.

Turning out of the road, Richard headed back to the crematorium. There was one more thing left to do and that was to honour his mother's final wish.


	5. Chapter 5

Ok, last chapter. I hope you enjoyed it. :)

Note: Chapter contains profanity.

Chapter Five

_"I want to be scattered here after I die, always loved this place!"_

_"Mum, don't be so morbid!"_

_"Richard, I am only saying Darling! This is where Grandma Jane lived all her life, where Grandpa William made her that ring with gold he managed to get from Wales..."_

_Richard had rolled his eyes and fiddled with the single earring in his left earlobe he had pierced a few months back. Just after he had returned for a few days from Cambridge with that and his hair dyed blond, Richard had slammed his father up against a wall when he came in from a walk to find his mother nursing a broken arm._

The memory of that time always haunted him. Richard had just come in the door after travelling back from Cambridge. He had warned his mother in advance about his appearance but it seemed she had neglected to tell his father. Of course when Richard walked in, there was hell to pay and he had walked out again to cool down. He was so much more hot headed in those days. Not so afraid as he was now of his father, of life.

When he came back in, his father was sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea while his mother was trying to iron clothes with one hand. Richard immediately saw that his mother had a broken arm, and guessing how it had happened, had flown across the room picking his father up out of the chair, clear up off the floor and hard against the nearest wall, his face inches from his father's.

_"Don't you EVER lay your fucking hands on my mother again!"_

But he stopped when his mother had started screaming at him to let his father go. Glaring at him, Richard had backed off. Eventually, he managed to get his mother to the nearest hospital to have her arm fixed. She wouldn't tell the casualty officer how she had come to break her arm, but Richard did, telling the doctor that his mother had been a victim of domestic abuse. It had earned him a terse response from his mother when he had asked her why the hell she did not make a complaint to the police.

_"I won't complain about your father. I married him and made a promise to be faithful, it's my bed I have made to lie in and so that's how it will be.."_

* * *

Now on a cold windy bluff twenty four years later, Richard looked out over the landscape of the Pennines. It was as wild and as desolate as any place could be, and his mother had loved it here. She had loved Bronte's_ Wuthering Heights_ but her 'Heathcliffe' turned out to an abusive bastard who had no heart. At least here, Richard had supposed, his mother could finally be free. There would be no memorial plaque but it would not be needed, the rolling countryside, the Dales and the Moors would be her memorial now.

He reached in to the car and pulled out the simple small casket box containing his mother's ashes. The wind was blowing behind him and sweeping down the hillside. Walking a little way from the car to a small craggy outcrop, Richard shivered a little and not just from the cold breeze. A few minutes later he was standing close to the edge and looked down, briefly entertaining the thought at how it would be so easy for him just fall forward and join her right now, how peaceful for him to spend eternity here too, but dismissed the idea as quickly as it had entered his head.

Then taking a deep breath, he unlocked the box, tipped out its contents and watched as they were swept up by the wind. For a moment the ashes seemed to coalesce in front of him but then were quickly carried down and across the wild Yorkshire countryside.

"Bye Mum." whispered Richard sadly, his heart starting to break in a thousand different ways he could have never imagined.

With one last backward glance, he headed to the car for the long drive back to London.

* * *

It had been another baking hot day in Honoré which was evident by the drop in reported crimes. Taking the bleep to be on-call for that night, Camille started to shut down her computer and tidy her desk. Dwayne had already changed out of his uniform and Fidel was pottering about as usual. The sun had not quite set but already the temperature had begun to drop from baking hell to merely stifling.

Suddenly Richard appeared in front of them. He stood in the doorway silently, briefcase in hand.

"Richard! We were not expecting you back until tomorrow morning!" Camille was rising out of her chair. Dwayne and Fidel joined in with their welcome. Richard smiled thinly and made his way to his desk.

"Er, thank you. It's good to be back. I've just come to pick up the keys." Richard said quietly, retrieving them from the desk drawer.

Camille approached him slowly, "Are you alright?" She asked.

Richard looked up at her and the rest of his team.

"We're sorry about your mother Chief." Dwayne added, with Fidel nodding in agreement.

Closing his eyes momentarily, Richard took a deep breath.

"Y..yes, yes, I'm alright. Thank you all...I..I. Look I'll be in the day after tomorrow, have to get over the jet lag you know.."

His head dropped again, he couldn't maintain eye contact with his team, his team who were *glad* to see him back, who cared.

"I..er..I had better go, got a taxi waiting.."

And at that he hurried out of the station, head down, not able to look anyone in the eye because he knew he was beginning to crack.

Camille frowned, her head to one side. He looked pale, drawn, she hated the sadness that was radiating from him and there was nothing she could do about it, nothing at all. Suddenly she snapped her head up. Richard hadn't noticed the small amount of mail that was sitting on his desk. Quickly grabbing the post, she hurried to the door calling out his name, but by the time she got there, the taxi was already turning out of the square and down to the main street.

Walking back in to the station, Camille sighed at her two colleagues, she would go out to the shack and drop the post off in a bit but first needed to close up the station.

* * *

Richard entered through the east side door, partially closing it behind him and stepped in to the shack in darkness. The sun had disappeared below the horizon quickly as did happen in the tropics, but Richard bathed in the night for a moment. He jumped a little at the sound of small skittering feet behind him. Reaching back to a light switch and seeing the room illuminated, Richard almost raised a smile as Harry, the small lizard who had almost become a companion appeared on the door frame behind him. It seemed to welcome him back.

"Glad to be..home..yes, this is home now isn't it."

The lizard seemed to regard Richard for a moment, then skittered back up the wall to the rafters.

Sighing, he went back on to the veranda carrying his his luggage in through the door. The rest of his mother's belongings and some personal items from Richard's own small maisonette would arrive later by post. But for now, he opened his case and started to lay out its contents.

But he stopped at the carefully packed jewellery box and a framed picture of him and his parents taken at his graduation from Cambridge two days before he was due to start at Hendon for his training to become a police officer.

Carefully placing both items over on the small table which served as a desk, another long buried memory surfaced with a vengeance. It made him gasp with the clarity and the shame of it.

_"For God's sake Mum, stop it!" Richard groaned, as his mother reached up to fix the hood of his graduation robe and then had started to fiddle with his tie. _

_He became annoyed, through nerves and embarrassment that his mother was arranging his clothes as if he were a child again. He grabbed her by the wrists and none too gently pulled her hands off him. The slight gasp and look of pain on her face make him stop and realise what he had done. He had been physically rough with her._

_"Sorry Mum, I didn't mean..."_

_"It's alright Richard, it's alright. I know I can be a bit of a fuss budget at times. Now go on, you need to get in to the hall!"_

_She had smiled afterwards, but Richard knew that something had been lost between them._

The memory made him gasp and he felt himself grow pale. Blindly he opened the doors to the front of the shack and almost stumbled out on to the veranda. He breathed in deeply, trying to focus but all he could see in his mind's eye was how roughly he had handled his mother on a day she should have been at her happiest.

He rested his hands on the rail and bent forward, his head sinking between his arms to try and stave off the nausea that was rising again. He eventually stood, holding on to the rail oblivious to the sound of a car pulling up beside the shack. His head started to spin at the sound of all the critical demeaning voices he had heard over the years, some of it his own.

Another thought hit him hard. He had wanted to go home months ago but after Doug Anderson and then returning back to the UK as a police escort to an indifferent team, made him realise that the home he wanted to go back to no longer existed, if indeed it ever did. At that precise moment, the full force of the years of rejection, loneliness, witnessing of abuse, never being part of the gang, never being able to fully integrate and everything about him open to ridicule because of his precise literal nature bore down on his soul with agonising intensity

"Richard. I've brought your post, you forgot to take it."

Her voice startled him. He straightened up but did not turn to face her.

"Thank you Camille, if you just leave it on the side I would be grateful."

Camille quickly moved past him and placed the mail on the desk. She looked up and noticed how he was still turned away from her and how tense he was. She slowly approached him.

"I am sorry about your mother, if there is anything I can do..."

Her hand reached out to him.

"Thank you, no, I'll be..be fine." He had replied.

"Richard..." She reached out again, touching his arm. He turned sideways to her.

"Please Camille, please don't make a fuss, I'm...I'm..."

At that moment, he felt his world suddenly crash around him and could no longer hold back. The touch of her hand on his arm was enough and the dam finally broke. His face crumpled and he began to sob.

Camille gasped as Richard's face suddenly became screwed up with pain and at the sound of a heart wrenching sob which seemed to come from deep within, tears streaming down his face. Instinctively she reached out and started to pull him towards her. He was rigid, his arms straight, his fists clenched as his body started to shake and the sobbing became more intense, but he did not resist as she whispered to him and placed her arms around his neck in an embrace to comfort him. Everything screamed in him to push her away, but he could not move, he didn't want to move. He had had enough.

Slowly his hands relaxed and he buried his head in to her shoulder as the tears came harder and his sobs grew more intense. He found his arms slowly rising and curling around her waist. Needing to hold her as he wept for everything that had hurt him for the last forty years of his life since a small child that could no longer stay buried. He had to finally accept he needed the comfort of another human being, whereas before he would have hidden himself away because the emotions were too intense to handle.

Camille felt him embrace her and she held on to him as he curled around her weeping. Her own eyes began to prickle as her usually reserved, closed off colleague and friend fell apart in her arms. She thought she could almost hear his heart break.

After what seemed to be an eternity, he felt himself calm down enough to raise his head. Camille had leaned back, still holding his arms and looking at him with tenderness.

"I'm sorry.." He whispered.

"S'ok, come and sit down." She replied, taking him by the hand and gently leading him through the door. He sat down in the wicker chair at the foot of his bed. Camille drew up in front of him with one of the table chairs, leaning forward a little and placing a hand on his.

"You ok? You want to tell me what happened?" She asked quietly.

Dabbing his eyes, Richard looked up at her. She was alarmed at how exhausted he looked.

"I went home and buried my mother." He said, trying to avoid answering her next question.

"No Richard, I want to know what happened." Camille insisted.

Richard's eyes grew distant.

"I went home. Dad had arranged everything, he does that. Mum was cremated but Dad and I had a huge fight afterwards. Y'see My..father wasn't just disappointed in me Camille, he's a cold bastard who abused my mum, sent me away and no matter how hard I tried, I could never please him. Its been the same all the way though my life. My mother, God love her always tried to make things right, always tried to make up for..."

He paused, drawing breath and then continued.

"He never loved her, she was a means to an end, a show piece for his lie of respectability. Then I arrived and of course, never came up to his expectations either. Well he finally got his way. Dad told me in no uncertain terms what he thought of Mum and I. And before you say it's his grief talking, it's not. My father is a sociopath Camille, who only ever regarded his family as a means to an end."

His voice then became a quiet whisper..

"Mum and I had a fight a few months back. She kept asking me when I would be coming home and I could never give her an answer, I was supposed to be home eight months ago Camille! But it didn't happen! The last time I spoke...to my mother.."

His voice began to crack..

"..she hung up on me saying I was like Dad, that I didn't want to come home, I didn't want to see..her. And God, you know something? She was right and you are right about my being like my father Camille... I tried to talk to her again but she didn't want to talk and then I left it. I didn't even try to contact her when I went home last month."

Richard looked up at Camille, he was gasping..

"..I should have gone home! I just wanted to go home.." Richard began to cry again, "just wanted to go home and but can't now it doesn't exist anymore, there's nothing left! Dad doesn't want to know, my work, everything has changed because I've been a stupid ...stupid..."

He couldn't continue. Camille leaned forward and put her arms around him again as he wept.

"Richard, I know it's not the same but we care about you here. You're amongst friends here. I know we can never be Croydon or replace your family, but you've become a part of ours and.."

Richard lifted his head responding silently to her words and he knew what Camille said was true. But for now the loss of all that he had in England was too strong and it had left him broken. He had no idea what would come next, but Camille was right. This was his home now and he was welcomed here, he was making a difference and was beginning to be glad of it.

He gently sat up and looked at her. Her eyes were shining and she had that beautiful smile, that confidence he so badly lacked in so many areas. But now, he needed to be alone.

"Thank you Camille and I am sorry about this evening, I didn't intend to..."

She shushed him, "S'ok, we're here for you, I'm here for you."

He nodded again and gave her a half smile.

"I know but I need to get this sorted out. But thank you again."

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" She asked, knowing what the answer was going to be.

Richard drew another deep breath, the offer was tempting but...

"No, I'm fine..I will be alright, I promise."

At that they rose and Camille headed towards the door.

"Ok, but I *will* call by tomorrow morning to check on you. I will not take no for an answer!" She said raising an eyebrow at him and smiling, "Goodnight Richard."

He looked down with a chuckle for a brief moment then back up at her.

"Goodnight Camille." He said as she left with a little wave.

Richard followed her out of the door then watched as she got in to the Defender and drove away. He turned to go back in but instead leaned on the door frame staring at the waves crashing up on the beach nearby, his heart grieving for a home that no longer existed and most likely never did.


End file.
